Enting
by Eregriel Gloswen
Summary: ON TEMPORARY HIATUS! While among the Ents in Fangorn, Merry and Pippin meet someone unlike anyone else in Middle Earth. I know that sounds very stereotypical. Deal with it. Read and review if it strikes your fancy, but I don't read flames.
1. A Meeting

Disclaimer:  I will only do this _once_.  The Lord of the Rings and Middle Earth is a creation of J.R.R. Tolkien, and is copyrighted by his descendants.  I do not claim to own anything that is a part of this franchise, nor am I making any money off of his genius.

Author's Note:  I know I said it would be long, but I'm sorry.  This is where the natural break seemed to occur.  Please note that, while I have no control over what you write in a review, I do not pay attention to flames.  Constructive criticism is, however, welcome.

The song and the sentence afterwards are taken from _The Two Towers.  I'm using them to establish when and where the story is taking place, and to transition into my own work. _

**Chapter 1:  A Meeting**

_O Orofarnë, Lassemista, Carnimírië!_

_O rowan fair, upon your hair how white the blossom lay!_

_O rowan mine, I saw you shine upon a summer's day,_

_Your rind so bright, your leaves so light, your voice so cool and soft;_

_Upon your head how golden-red the crown you bore aloft!_

_O rowan dead, upon your head your hair is dry and grey;_

_Your crown is spilled, your voice is stilled for ever and a day._

_O Orofarnë, Lassemista, Carnimírië!_

The hobbits fell asleep to the sound of the soft singing of Bregalad, that seemed to lament in many tongues the fall of the trees that he had loved.

            After more or less an hour of peaceful sleep, Merry was suddenly awakened.  At first he could not tell what had jarred him from his deep slumber, but after a few moments, his question was answered.  A new voice had broken the silence, one that was a good deal closer to the ent-house than the distant murmur that was the Moot.  It was speaking what Merry could now recognize as Entish, but the voice itself was somewhat higher than Treebeard's, Bregalad's, and all the Ents of the Moot.  This fact sparked his curiosity, but not as much as that the voice was steadily coming nearer.  Nudging Pippin until the younger hobbit was also awake, Merry watched the circle of rowan trees around them intently, hoping his guess as to which direction from which the voice was coming was correct.

            "What is it?"  Pippin whispered, wanting to know why Merry had felt the need to wake him up, but Merry motioned for him to be silent, because he had at last seen a trace of movement behind the dark ring of trees.  Being the middle of the night, he was unable to discern much about what it was that was moving beyond the rowans until the figure stepped into the ent-house.

            Merry wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but he certainly hadn't imagined that the voice was coming from the slight young woman he was watching walk up the side of the boulder on which he and Pippin sat.  In the darkness, the hobbit could not tell if she was Man or Elf, but something about her was unlike anyone he had seen of either race.  Even in the dim moonlight, he could see that she had a very light, "sun-kissed" sort of tan, but even with that, she had a sort of moonlit glow that reminded him somehow of Rivendell.  Her long brown hair was thick and wild, falling in untamed ripples down her back.  She was dressed simply, in a deep green gown, edged in brown and white, which made no sound as she moved.  Neither did she, for that matter, save for the Entish she was still speaking; as soon as Merry had seen her, he had gone from thinking her voice strangely high for an Ent, to unbelievably low for such a woman.  He could not see her eyes, for she had yet to look in the direction of the two hobbits.  She was moving directly to where Bregalad stood silent.  Indeed, in their wonder at this mysterious new presence, Merry and Pippin had all but forgotten about their guardian.  She kept walking until she stood at his feet, her mouth still open in speech.

            "Slow down, child!"  Bregalad laughed.  "If you feel the need to speak quickly, use the Common tongue."  She nodded, opening her mouth to speak again, but paused, finally noticing Merry and Pippin, who had both moved to a standing position some three meters away.

            "Who have we here?"  Her voice was slow and melodious, her inflections reminding Merry of the spring bubbling out from the ground not too far away.  "These two young sirs," Bregalad murmured, "are Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took, hobbits from the Shire."

            "Merry and Pippin is easier," Pippin piped up, as Merry continued to eye her curiously. 

            The girl shook her head slowly.  "No need to shorten them," she stated, taking her time with her words once more.  "If it does not offend you, I would rather use your full name. 

            "I remember your names anyway," she said, smiling slightly.  "From the Moot.  You were added to the old lists."  Both hobbits nodded.  "But, if I may," Merry began, looking up at her, "who are you?"  The girl's eyes (which they could now see were hazel) gleamed as she laughed in a manner that somehow reminded the two hobbits of Bregalad.  Her entire face lit up as she did so, and as it settled afterward, something about her expression set a bell off in Pippin's head.  It was vaguely familiar, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember why.

            "My friends," Bregalad said, looking down at them with what could only be assumed was a small smile on his face.  "I would like to introduce Onodiel."

            "_No," she said loudly, and a good deal quicker than anything she had yet uttered, before resuming her former pace.  "Only among the Elves am I Onodiel.  In the Common Tongue, I very much prefer Rowan."_

            "Now then," Bregalad murmured, moving so that he faced Rowan.  "What was it you were saying?"  The hobbits stepped back, sitting back down where they had been asleep only minutes before.  Again Rowan nodded, before speaking in a tone that, despite her slow, deliberate speed, radiated excitement.

            "Lasbereth and I stayed behind at the Moot for some time," she explained.  "I was not sure that you would still be listening, having left.  Considering the speed ("Or lack thereof," Merry could be heard to whisper) of Entish, they have made progress."  Bregalad nodded, obviously pleased.  Both Merry and Pippin could tell that, though she had not yet said it outright, Rowan was of the same mind as the Ent she was conversing with.  She was willing to go to war with Isengard.

            "Ho, hmm, this is good news," Bregalad said.  "But where is Lasbereth now?"

            "She and I parted at the clearing a few good Ent-paces away," Rowan answered.  "It had been some time since she had been able to truly graze.  I felt it only right to let her do so."  Merry and Pippin had no idea what this meant, but Bregalad seemed to, for he nodded knowingly as she spoke.  "Shall I go back for her?"  The young girl asked.  "I should think that she has had her fill by now."

            "Indeed," said Bregalad, motioning in the direction from whence she had come.  Rowan nodded, turning to go, soon disappearing into the shadowy depths of the forest.

            The hobbits stared after her curiously, until they realized that Bregalad was speaking to them now.  "Go back to sleep, little hobbits," he said soothingly.  "You must regain your strength.  Chances are we must all be prepared for what will come."  Nodding in unison, Merry and Pippin laid back down, their thoughts only briefly dwelling on the strange girl who had gone as strangely as she had come, before again allowing slumber to overcome them.


	2. Rowan

**Chapter 2:  Rowan**

            Pippin awoke the next morning much earlier than he would have expected.  By the look of the sky, the sun had fully risen, but only a sliver of it could yet be seen over the tall trees surrounding the ent-house for miles around.  If he raised his head a bit, he could just barely make out the form of a dark chestnut-coloured horse standing among the rowan trees.  Merry was still fast asleep next to him; his peaceful face suggested to Pippin that his friend would not be voluntarily waking up any time soon.  Turning to look over his other shoulder, the hobbit's gaze set upon the reason for his untimely departure from sleep:  Rowan was seated next to him, humming softly, and gently fingering the corner of his grey Lórien cloak.

            "Elvish," she said.

            "So is yours," Pippin replied, recognizing the style of the design embroidered along the hem of her gown, the same one as before.

            "Mirkwood," Rowan smiled, nodding.

            "Lórien."

            _What a conversation_, he thought, chuckling inwardly.  This did not, however, keep him from noticing Rowan's eyes widen ever so slightly at his mention of Lórien.  "What is it?"  He asked.

            "Nothing," she answered.  "It is just that I have never heard of the Lord and Lady allowing anyone but their own kind past their borders alive."  She had an expression on her face that suggested she wanted to hear more about it, but Pippin made no move to answer.

            "You're an Elf, then?"  He said, almost to himself.

            "No."

            "Ma― er, Woman?"

            "Physically," she said, with a tone that almost sounded like disgust, "but I have never been among them.  If I have ever needed something― clothing, weapons, food I cannot get myself― I have gone to the Elves, and even that is rare.  Otherwise, I stay in the forest.  It is my home."

            Pippin thought about this for a moment, but he couldn't help but wonder about one thing.  "But if you've never been among Men before, than where are you from?  You can't have simply popped up out of the ground one day like a weed."  But Rowan only smiled mysteriously, and hopped up to stand by the spring.  Pippin turned to Bregalad, who had been standing a few meters away, listening to the two.  "Right?"

            "At the time," Bregalad laughed, "she seemed to have done just that.   She was found as an infant just inside the borders of the Forest.  We Ents do not associate with the Men of Rohan, and so it was decided to keep her here.  Rowan is the closest we have had to an Enting in quite some time, and we enjoy watching her grow as our child, or as much of one as can be since the leaving of the Entwives."

            Pippin looked over at Rowan, suddenly understanding why she was so unlike all the other Big People he had met since leaving the Shire.  She now stood by the horse, gently stroking its neck, and was still smiling serenely.  Again Pippin had a prickle of recognition in the back of his mind, but he could not yet figure out why it seemed so familiar.  "How long has it been since she was found?"

            "Oh, several winters," said Bregalad.

            "How many is 'several'?  Twenty, maybe?"

            "Perhaps one or two less than that," the Ent replied.  "It was late summer when she was found, though, so my count may be off."

            Pippin nodded, lost in thought.  So she was a bit younger than twenty.  If she were a hobbit, she would barely be an adolescent.  He pushed himself into a standing position, and walked over to where Rowan and the horse stood.  He looked up into the tall, proud creature's face, and could see something deep and intelligent shining behind its dark eyes.  This was no simple little pony.  This was a great, noble beast, for whom the word 'animal' could never suffice.

            "Is this Lasbereth?"  He asked, still in awe of the steed before him.

            "Indeed," Rowan nodded.  "This is she, the only piece of the world of Men I have with me."

            "How did she come to you?"

            "She was found wandering along the edge of the Forest a few summers ago, not far from where I myself was discovered.  Someone recognized the harness she wore as one of the Riders of Rohan, but there was no Man in sight.  It was assumed that he had been killed."  Rowan raised a pale hand to Lasbereth's face, and brushed a few stray locks of dark chocolate mane away from the mare's eyes.  "Lasbereth has been my dearest friend for some time."  Pippin could see a love in the girl's eyes that made him think of Sam's beloved pony, Bill.  He hadn't thought of Sam, or indeed, Frodo, in some time, but now the memory of them pressed on his mind.  He wondered where they were, and if they were still tracing a path to Mordor.

            Pippin stood in silence, pondering this for some time, before his train of thought was broken by sounds of Merry stirring from his deep sleep.  It seemed that the sun had finally risen high enough above the trees to awaken the other hobbit.  Soon Merry was standing next to Pippin, blinking and stretching.

            "What have I missed?"  He murmured sleepily, looking from Pippin to Rowan and back.  But Pippin simply shrugged, and Rowan continued to smile furtively as she rubbed Lasbereth's nose.

*************

            The three spent most of the morning together, either in the ent-house or wandering the woods near it.  Even when they seemed to have strayed far enough from the circle of rowan trees that Merry and Pippin began to feel lost, Rowan was always able to walk a few paces in some seemingly random direction, and the two hobbits could catch a comforting glimpse of the rock on which they had spent the night.  The first few times this happened, Rowan was as patient as she seemed to be with everything else, but after a bit, she was incredulous.

            "How can you feel lost?"  She said, amazed.  "This is the fifth time it has happened in this very _spot!_  Surely you recognize it by now?"

            But both hobbits shook their heads.  "It all looks the same to us," Merry explained.

            "_How?"  Rowan gaped.  "No two trees look the same.  Each one is very much distinct.  It's impossible to mistake one tree for another, unlike _men, _I've heard."_

            Merry and Pippin sighed, not wanting to argue over something like what trees looked like, and did not mention feeling lost again.  Instead the conversation moved to their home.  Rowan was fascinated with their description of the Shire, but said over and over that it would frighten her to be in such an open place.

            "I have problems with wide open spaces," she explained.  "I am better with the comforting darkness of the forest.  Before the coming of Lasbereth, I did not fare well with great amounts of sunlight either, and stuck to the thicker parts of the forest.  Even now, I only travel to the world of the Elves under the cover of darkness."  She took a moment to laugh before again speaking.  "I remember the first time I visited the Elves.  I did not yet know enough of the language to explain who I was and where I was from, and so they named me 'night-maiden'.  Some still call me by that name, Dúwen."

            "You seem to have many names," Merry remarked.  "Why do you choose to be known as nothing more than Rowan?"

            Rowan smiled.  "For a number of reasons, Master Meriadoc," she said.  "Most obviously, I go by Rowan to honor Bregalad's trees.  Of all the Ents, he is perhaps the one that I can most associate as a 'father' to me, and I am pleased to bear the name of his beloved rowan trees that were so brutally slaughtered.  But, more than that, the name Rowan simply feels undeniably _right._  I do not know why."

            Both Merry and Pippin had begun to notice that, as the day went on, Rowan was speaking faster.  Indeed, before midday, she carried on conversation at the same pace they did.  By that time, talk had turned to what circumstances had brought two hobbits to the outskirts of Fangorn.  Merry and Pippin, constantly interrupting one another, told their tale, conveniently leaving out all mention of the One Ring.  Rowan seemed a bit skeptical, especially after their description of hobbits, but did not press the matter of exactly _why a troupe representing the Free Peoples of Middle Earth had gone on a journey, and was constantly assailed by the dark forces._

            It was at this time that Merry and Pippin invited Rowan to talk about herself.  Merry had yet to hear any explanation of who she was, and Pippin only had Bregalad's brief summary of her life.

            "You really want to hear this?"  Rowan asked, smiling dubiously.  Both hobbits nodded feverishly.  "All right then," she sighed, and with a bit of a smile, began to softly sing.

~*~

Author's Note:  Well then, there's Chapter Two.  I'm glad that it turned out a bit longer than the first.  It may be a little while before I post Chapter Three, due to finals, and (mainly) I have to write Rowan's Song now.

Special thanks to my reviewers, Miss Cassi and Elessar*Lover.  I'm honored that you took the time to write a review.


	3. Of Music and Metal

Author's Note:  Realize now that Rowan's Song is not very "Tolkien-ish" in its style and meter.  It's really just a sonnet, with a chorus that came to me at two in the morning.  It sounded good, so I put it in.  Can't refuse the call of inspiration, can you?  Just know that I know it's not set up like the rest of the songs in _The Lord of the Rings._  If you're going to flame me, don't use that.  Find something original.

**Chapter 3:  Of Music and Metal**

_Dawn's red sun broke a cloudless summer morn,_

_Birds raised their song in praise of the lightening sky;_

_But one voice, not joyful, but quite forlorn,_

_Disturbed the tranquil forest with its cry._

_No Rider there to save the child,_

_No doting mother, meek and mild,_

_No Men to raise her rigidly,_

_Just Trees to rear her in the wild._

_Found by an Ent who happened to pass by;_

_He brought her home to decide on her fate._

_She settled in his arms with a soft sigh,_

_Her trust told of the life that did await._

_No Rider there to save the child,_

_No doting mother, meek and mild,_

_No Men to raise her rigidly,_

_Just Trees to rear her in the wild._

_Summer night, warm as sunlight, dark as slate_

_She slept between tree branches as he thought._

_Under his care, could she grow tall and straight?_

_Or would she wither, without what men taught?_

_No Rider there to save the child,_

_No doting mother, meek and mild,_

_No Men to raise her rigidly,_

_Just Trees to rear her in the wild._

_At last he chose to raise her in Fangorn,_

_And there I've thrived, as if there I was born._

            Rowan's voice rang out; against all odds, the forest seemed to have lovely acoustics.  Her voice was low and sweet, as one would have expected from looking at her, but there was a definite bitterness underneath.  One could clearly tell that she was much happier among the Ents than she assumed she would have been with Men, but the animosity she sang with implied that she would have hoped that Men would have at least made an effort.

            Merry and Pippin were silent for a few moments, stunned by her song.  Rowan blushed, looking away.

            "It is much more beautiful in Elvish," she said, "but there you are, as well as I can translate it."

            "So you've had to explain yourself before?"  Asked Merry.

            She nodded.  "I had to tell the Elves of Mirkwood who I was somehow.  I chose song."  

            The hobbits said nothing once more; Rowan misinterpreted this as them not liking her rather spontaneous performance.  She looked skyward.  "It is almost midday," she commented.  "We should be getting back to the ent-house.  You will want a little something to nourish yourself, I presume?"  Merry and Pippin nodded in unison, brightening up noticeably at the mention of food.  Rowan laughed.  "Turn this way," she said, pointing, "And continue straight for a short time, and you'll find it."  She turned the other direction, and uttered a relatively short string of Entish.  A distant whinny could be heard that proved Lasbereth had heard.  "I will go for a draught for you."

            Less than an hour later, Merry and Pippin were back on top of the boulder in the center of the ent-house, sipping at the last of their luncheon, while Rowan sat alone next to the small brook the spring created.  Bregalad stood alone, facing the Moot, listening intently to the voices of the other Ents.

            "What do you think?"  Pippin whispered, leaning toward Merry.

            "About what?"

            "Everything, I suppose.  Where the others are, Bregalad, Rowan, the Entmoot.  What do you think they'll decide?"

            "I really don't know, Pip," Merry murmured.  He knew there was a possibility of the Ents deciding not to get involved, but he hadn't really thought about what would happen if that came to be.  "But I hope they choose to help."

            "What do we do if they don't?"  Pippin asked, but Merry was silent.  What _would they do if the Ents didn't go to battle?  They couldn't very well meet up with the others, considering they didn't know where the others were.  They could go home, but Merry didn't want to think about that.  He missed the Shire, and was sure that Pippin did too, but knew he couldn't possibly act as if nothing had happened while he knew so many of their friends were out in the world, involved in such epic conflict.  "Merry?"  Pippin said again quite softly.  Merry could hear the uneasiness in his voice._

            "I don't know," Merry said for the second time.  "I'm not sure of anything right now, Pip."  The younger hobbit fell mute, suddenly lost in his own turbulent thoughts, as Merry stood up, and walked over to where Rowan sat.  She had whittled at a stick until it was perfectly straight, and was using a sharp shard of stone to bore holes in the end of it.  The young woman seemed to be having a hard time with it, but at Merry's offer of the pin of his Lórien brooch, she shook her head vigorously, looking upon the thing as if it were something rather unpleasant, like Sam would a hardy weed.

            "I loathe metal," she said, "and all it represents."  Merry gave her a questioning look at this, and so she elaborated.  "It is the harsh, impersonal machine of industry taking the place of the untamed, magnificent wild.  It is the iron fist crushing the tender young sapling.  It is the idea that all that is green and good in this world will be lost, and all that will remain in its memory will be the charred remains of slaughtered trees.  The very thought of it makes me ill."  She paused, thinking over her words, as if actually saying them would leave a bad taste in her mouth.  "But," she muttered, "when it is necessary, I use it."

            No words went between them for some time.  She continued to work at the end of her stick, working small holes into the hard wood, while Merry gazed at the stream before him.  The more she worked, however, the more curious he became, until he finally looked over at her.  Rowan's attention had moved to the other end of the rod.  The holes (though they were much more like grooves than anything else) had been used to help affix brown and white-speckled feathers, and she was now at work securing a stone arrowhead with a thin strap of leather.  Merry was a bit surprised; almost every archer he had met on his journey used metal for their arrows, but considering what she had just said, Rowan's use of stone wasn't altogether shocking.  

"So arrows aren't necessary enough?"  He asked.  His mindset was a bit glum after his conversation with Pippin, but he knew his question sounded like a joke, so he said it with a small smile.  Rowan chuckled.

"No," she said.  "The only time I have really voluntarily taken up metal is when it was a sword."

Merry considered this, but, as it seemed with everything she said, a question came to mind.  "Do Elves normally teach their guests to use arms?"

"Not intentionally," she answered, laughing once more.  "I learn most things through mimicry.  I watched Elves practicing with their bows and swords, and imitated what they did at my own natural pace."

"But isn't 'your own natural pace' a bit slow to be of any use?"  He had picked up a pebble from the edge of the stream, and was idly tossing it into the air and catching it.

"Just because I _learn_ at my own natural pace does not mean I stay that way," Rowan said, rolling her hazel eyes.  She slowly raised her hand into the air in front of her, and gently moved her fingers, as if she were playing a harp.  "I learn all motions at this pace.  In doing that, I find and memorize every little subtle adjustment my body makes.  I know every shift in posture, every unconscious tilt of the hand, so that when I need to be–" she paused, as Merry reached out to catch his stone, only to realize that Rowan had snatched it out of the air without his seeing it.  She now held it in her outstretched hand, and still didn't look as if she had moved at all.  "I am lightning fast," she finished.  Merry simply stared for a few moments, before she handed back his pebble, and he resumed tossing and catching is as if nothing had happened.

            "But what do you need arrows for anyway?"  He suddenly asked.

            "I do not just stay in Fangorn, Meriadoc," Rowan replied.  "Especially not since the coming of Lasbereth.  I have traveled in most of the forests of Middle Earth, and when I am abroad, I need to provide food for myself, and so I hunt."  She finally finished with the arrow she had been working on, and set it aside, on top of a small stack of them Merry hadn't noticed.  Picking up another stick, she set to work boring holes in the end once again.  "But now," she continued, "I have a much more productive need for arrows."

            "What's that?"

            "Why, the war with Isengard, of course," she said.  "I thought you had realized much earlier than this, Meriadoc.  I care not what the Ents decide at the Moot.  I am going to battle."

            This thought comforted Merry.  If the Ents did not choose to go against Isengard, perhaps he and Pippin could go with Rowan.  It would be unlikely that they would win, but at least they could make an effort.  He looked back at Pippin.  It appeared that, even with all the worries swirling in his head, the younger hobbit had dozed off in the warm sun.  Merry chucked his pebble at his friend, hitting him on the side of the head.  With a slight jerk, Pippin awakened, amid gay laughter from Rowan, and threw the stone back at Merry.

            The trio again set out to wander the woods, their conversation jumping from topic to topic.  Merry and Pippin were shocked to learn that Rowan could neither read nor write.

            "No Ent does," she explained, "and of language in general, I only know what they have taught me."  Merry immediately took it upon himself to teach her, and began drawing Elvish letters in the dirt.  Rowan watched bemusedly for a little while, as he explained what vowels looked like, and what letter represented what sound, but she soon became bored with it, and said outright that she cared not for learning such things.  After a while Merry sighed, giving up, and they continued on their way.  She began to show them how to tell one tree from another, pointing out subtle differences between them, in hopes of both hobbits feeling a bit less lost.  This kept their interest for some time, but after a while Rowan could see that Merry's eyes had begun to glaze over, and it had been a good deal of time since Pippin had been paying attention.  

            Conversation continued intermittently, but as sunset approached, they mostly walked in silence.  Both Merry and Pippin could clearly tell that Rowan's ears were pricked, and she was listening to the Moot once more.  They allowed her to do so, but it wasn't long before she realized that it was high time for the hobbits to get back to the ent-house.  She led them back, and the last thing either hobbit saw before falling asleep was Rowan and Bregalad standing side by side, listening intently to the rising and falling voices of the Ents deciding upon the fate of Isengard, and Saruman himself.

~*~

Response to Reviewers:

Special thanks to Lya Wills, a first time reviewer.

Elessar*Lover:  I'm so sad that yours is over, but I can't wait until the sequel.  I'm really happy that you like mine so much!

Lorfindiel: Huzzah!  You reviewed!  Thanks for the praise, Rel.  You should really write some fanfiction of your own!__


	4. Ornon's Ring

Author's Note: I've finally worked through my writer's block, and gotten to this point. This chapter is mostly fluff, though, because I needed to fill time before what happens at the end of the chapter. I am actually quite happy with the little song I wrote. I don't know how long it'll be before Chapter Five is up, because while I've been working through writer's block, I started typing another story. I can't decide if I want to post it yet or not.

There's a big chunk at the end of this chapter that I took pretty much directly from _The Two Towers, _except that I put Rowan in (obviously).

****

Chapter 4: Ornon's Ring

Merry and Pippin awoke the next morning to find Rowan and Bregalad standing exactly where they had when the hobbits had fallen asleep. By the looks of it, neither had moved. Pippin opened his mouth to say good morning, but Rowan put a finger to her lips, motioning for him to be silent. The two sat there, pretending that they weren't getting bored, and occasionally sneaking glances at the girl and the Ent. After nearly fifteen minutes, Rowan sighed, and finally moved from her position, and bent down over the seated Halflings.

"Fine," she whispered. "We will do something. But we should go out into the Forest to do whatever it is. Bregalad wishes to listen, and we should not disturb him." Nodding, Merry and Pippin stood up, and tried to be as quiet as possible while they followed Rowan out of the ent-house. Rowan, as usual, made no noise at all as she moved, and the contrast between her and the hobbits made Pippin feel like the occasional rustling of clothing or crack of a twig underneath his feet was terribly loud.

After a few minutes of walking, they came to a small clearing. Here the ground was soft to the hobbits' feet, and covered with the pale green of new spring grass. The Entwash could be heard flowing just through the trees on the other side of their little opening in the trees. In the center, there were the remains of a great tree. It was just barely a stump now, but by its size, it had stood for many thousands of years.

"This was once the grove of Ornon," Rowan murmured reverently. "Some believed him to be the first tree of all of Fangorn. He was the tallest, strongest tree anyone could have the honor of seeing." She fell to her knees before the remains of the tree, softly chanting in Elvish. "A Ornon, le linnathon. A Ornon, im ortanailye. A Ornon, si le laitan. Nai."

Pippin turned to his cousin. "Is she praying?" He asked somewhat naïvely. Merry rolled his eyes, and shushed the younger hobbit. She had been very kind to them, especially when it was obvious that she knew they were not telling her the entire tale of their journey. It was the least they could do to respect her customs, no matter how odd they seemed. But by this time Rowan had gotten to her feet, and motioned for them to come closer.

"Come," she smiled. "Let us sit within Ornon's Ring." As they came forward, she lifted each of them in turn onto the soft wood of the remnants of the tree. "I have been told that Ornon was truly majestic in his prime," she said, almost to herself.

"You never saw him, then?" Merry asked.

Rowan shook her head. "No," she answered. "Ornon was dead long before my time, perhaps even before the leaving of the Entwives. There was a great fire, and he passed back into the act of Creation." She motioned to the circle of trees along the edge of the clearing. "The shock of his death allowed him to sire more trees, thus starting the cycle once more." She sighed, looking skyward as she leaned back onto the tree. Merry and Pippin followed suit; they sat peacefully for a long amount of time, during which Merry was sure Pippin dozed off, due to the occasional gentle snore he heard from his cousin's general direction. He swatted the furry top of Pippin's foot, effectively waking the hobbit with a start. Rowan laughed.

"Now," she said, "tell me of your home once more. Tell me of the Shire, and of your people." Neither could really think of anything they hadn't said of the Shire the day before, so they spoke of all their favorite memories: nights at the Green Dragon, Bilbo's birthday party, all the happy things they could think of. Pippin wondered if this was a tactic to occupy them while she focused her ears on the distant voices of the Moot, but as they went on, she seemed sincerely interested in what they had to say. She smiled and laughed in all the right places, and asked questions when necessary.

The subjects of Bilbo and the Green Dragon both inevitably led to talk of songs, and Rowan immediately latched on to the idea. She asked to hear them sing something of Bilbo's, but both hobbits were overcome with an uncharacteristic bout of bashfulness.

"Our music," Merry protested, "isn't near proper enough for such a place." Neither he nor Pippin quite understood the deep respect Rowan had shown the tree stump, but both could tell that it was a sort of shrine to her.

But Rowan shook her head. "Ornon's Ring is not a forum for solemn worship," she said. "It is one to view and experience the cycle of death and rebirth. It is a place of pure, raw joy. Why should any form of expression be excluded from here?" They were still a bit doubtful, but she continued to insist. 

In later days, neither was sure who began first, but they launched into a slightly self-conscious rendition of one of Bilbo's old walking-songs. That lead into another, and a third after that; they gained confidence with each song, until both were singing as merrily as Frodo had in the Prancing Pony. After every song, Rowan made a point to applaud enthusiastically, further boosting the hobbits' confidence.

After the third song, however, Pippin asked to hear her sing again. She blushed as she shook her head, and suddenly became quite interested in the remains of Ornon. "Please, Rowan," he said, his large eyes imploring. "You said yourself that this was a place from which no expression can be banned. If anyone's creativity should be here, it's yours."

"He's right," Merry chimed in. "Please sing."

"Fine," Rowan conceded, rolling her hazel eyes with a smile on her face. "But the song I have in mind is far different from the one I sang yesterday. It is a lullaby Bregalad sang to me when I was still but a small child." She cleared her throat, before beginning to sing, softly and slowly:

__

Farewell, o green and supple Spring;

Summer is on Her way,

With promises of warmth and joy

In every breaking day.

But Summer, too, goodbye to you,

For you must also flee;

The first cool breath of Autumn

And you fade from ev'ry tree.

But Autumn's sweet, red-golden bliss

Is soon to go as well,

The swift, crisp bite of Winter

Makes it vanish from the dell.

And Winter, too, will disappear,

As if on silver wings,

Allowing in the next of o'er

A hundred thousand Springs.

And so, until the end of time

The Wheel turns ever on.

Forever lies ahead of it,

And all behind is gone.

We are but helpless riders

And we never will escape.

For there is no destination

And one never will take shape.

So hush, my little darling,

Let its rocking bring you sleep.

May you find good cheer and comfort

From this slumber, dark and deep.

I will stay here to watch over

While you travel in your dreams,

The Wheel rolls ever onward

Its path lit by pale moonbeams.

Rowan smiled as she sang, her voice containing none of the bitterness it had the last time she had sung for the hobbits. She seemed to be channeling the pure, raw joy she had spoken of before. 

Both Merry and Pippin applauded as she finished, just as fervently as she had for them. She simply smiled, and laid back onto the stump in which the three sat, gazing up at the bleak grey sky. Nothing was said for a few moments, and it was during that time that Pippin noticed that something was different.

"The Ents," he said, sitting up slightly. "They've stopped."

"Indeed," Rowan replied without moving from her reclining position. "They have been silent for some time, Peregrin." She swung her legs around, and pulled herself into a standing position atop Ornon. "I do believe, my little hobbits," she said, "that we should be getting back to Bregalad." She jumped down from the soft wood of the stump onto the soft grass below. Merry and Pippin followed suit as Rowan made a short, sharp cry to Lasbereth, who cantered through the trees into the Ring moments later. She lifted both hobbits onto the dark chestnut back of the mare before mounting Lasbereth herself; as soon as Lasbereth could feel all three bodies on her, she sprang into action, cantering through the trees back to the ent-house.

The three arrived back at the ent-house to find Bregalad standing alert, facing northward toward Derndingle. Rowan dismounted, lifting Merry and Pippin off Lasbereth as well, before slowly walking toward Bregalad, ready to ask him if he knew anything.

Then with a crash came a great ringing shout: _ra-hoom-rah! _The trees quivered and bent as if a gust had struck them. There was another pause, and then a marching music began like solemn drums, and above the rolling beats and booms there welled voices singing high and strong.

__

We come, we come with roll of drum: ta-runda runda runda rom!

The Ents were coming: ever nearer and louder rose their song:

__

We come, we come with horn and drum: ta-runa runa runa rom!

Bregalad picked up the hobbits and strode from his house. Rowan stood still for barely a second, before leaping atop Lasbereth and speeding along beside her father.

Before long they saw the marching line approaching: the Ents were swinging along with great strides down the slope towards them. Treebeard was at their head, and some fifty followers were behind him, two abreast, keeping step with their feet and beating time with their hands upon their flanks. As they drew near the flash and flicker of their eeys could be seen.

"Hoom, hom! Here we come with a boom, here we come at last!" called Treebeard when he caught sight of Bregalad, Rowan, and the hobbits. "Come, join the Moot! We are off. We are off to Isengard!"

"To Isengard!" the Ents cried in many voices.

"To Isengard!"

__

To Isengard! Though Isengard be ringed and barred with doors of stone;

Though Isengard be strong and hard, as cold as stone and bare as bone,

We go, we go, we go to war, to hew the stone and break the door;

For bole and bough are burning now, the furnace roars — we go to war!

To land of gloom with tramp of doom, with roll of drum, we come, we come;

To Isengard with doome we come!

With doom we come, with doom we come!

So they sang as they marched southwards. Bregalad, his eyes shining, swung into the line beside Treebeard. Rowan, with a whoop of joy, gave Lasbereth a gentle kick, and they too joined the crowd of Ents marching on toward Isengard.


	5. Instinct

Author's Note: I made a vow to finish this chapter before the end of my summer term. That's on the 27th. This would have been done earlier, except for two things:  
1. I think _Nazgul_ actually means "summer school history teacher".  
2. Right in the middle of writing this chapter, I got amazing inspiration for a Harry Potter fic, so I took a break and wrote two chapters of that one. I'll start publishing that one after school starts up again (upperclassman, _yeah!_). Chances are it'll be on (less likely to be lost in the tide), but that remains to be seen.

If anyone's interested in who the girl behind the keyboard really is, I have a _real_ LiveJournal now. My screenname there is rosepetal9. I say now, it's a lot of me bitching about my friends and life in general, but it may be interesting to someone. Hey, there's a photo of me there, looking damn good from when my friends and I went bowling in formalwear on Prom Night (great fun, I highly suggest it).

Chapter 5: Instinct

The company of Ents marched on through the afternoon, until they reached the desolate valley that was Isengard. Merry and Pippin stayed with Treebeard, while Rowan rode up and down the line of Ents, singing and chanting along with them. Even from their place at the front of the army, the hobbits could hear the low voice of their friend nearly the entire time.

The sun had long since set when the army found themselves before the remnants of the once beautiful valley. Now it was bleak, with little growing save for thorny bushes and dry, spiky grass. What trees that had once grown there had been ripped from the earth; all that told of their existence were the gaping scars left in the land, and the occasional charred stump where a tree's roots had grown too deep to uproot. Smoke rose from the walled ring in which the ominous tower of Orthanc stood.

Hobbits have a natural love for nature; that alone made the landscape shocking. But after spending an extended period of time with Rowan and the Ents, Merry and Pippin had picked up at least a semblance of their reverence for life and growth. The barren wasteland was burned into their minds as vividly as any battlefield.

Pippin noticed the eerie silence that had fallen like snow over the Ent army. There was no singing, no marching; it was as if time stopped for a few moments. Without a sound, Rowan and Lasbereth broke through the lines, almost as if they hadn't noticed everyone else come to a standstill.

After going nearly thirty feet ahead of the Ents, both horse and rider froze as they confronted the sight before them. Then, without warning, Rowan let out a pained shriek of horror. She screamed, and could not stop screaming. A face that had been ripe with sorrow hardened into one of rage. In one fluid movement, she ripped her bow from where it had been strapped on her back, and nocked an arrow to the string. She nudged Lasbereth gently with her heel; the horse started forward, but in two easy strides Bregalad caught up with her and easily plucked her from atop the steed.

"_Stop_," he commanded, and Rowan finally fell silent. "Do not hastily run into this," he said in a decidedly kinder tone. "To charge into battle in such a fashion is suicide. It would mean the death of us all." Rowan sighed, taking a moment to ponder what he said, before nodding reluctantly. Satisfied, he gave Lasbereth a little push with one long arm. The horse understood, and turned around, speeding off in the direction from whence they had all come. Rowan cried out in protest, struggling to reach the ground, but Bregalad held tight.

"You must understand, little one," he whispered (or rather, tried to: his voice was not exactly designed to whisper). "Battle is nearly always the death of the mount, much less the rider. Do not resign such a friend to a painful death without giving her a choice."

Rowan glared up at the Ent, her mouth open to retort, but to her surprise, no words came. The hard, icy gleam in her eyes melted as she went limp in her father's grasp. Her breath came in short, quick gasps, like one who is trying hard not to cry. Bregalad did nothing to stop her, simply holding her until she calmed down, before gently placing her on his shoulder.

Pippin was still watching her; her face was cool and composed, but her hands were gripping her bow so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. At his angle, he could only see one of her eyes, but it was ablaze with some mixture of grief and anger, like a pinprick of hazel fire.

Treebeard and Bregalad (with Merry, Pippin, and Rowan, respectively), along with a few other Ents started forward once more, within sight of the great gates of Isengard, but once again they stopped. Rowan began to shake, as if it were taking a great deal of willpower to keep from leaping down from her father's shoulders and mount a one-warrior attack all over again. But the Ent inside her kept her mindful of patience, and she stayed atop Bregalad.

Without warning, there was a great blowing of trumpets. The walls surrounding the fortress vibrated with the echo. Both Merry and Pippin jerked upright, looking about for some sign that the army of Ents and Huorns had been discovered. Rowan remained outwardly calm, but she was quite swiftly looking down the shaft of her arrow, watching for any movement. With a thunderous, resounding _clang_, they watched the gates slowly open, and almost immediately, regimented lines of Orcs and Men began filing out, seemingly without any end in sight. It was as if Saruman was emptying Isengard. Merry's eyes widened. How many soldiers did their adversary have?

Rowan's bow was still pointed at the opening of the gate. Her hands were itching to let her arrow fly, and she wasn't the only one who knew it. Bregalad reached up, slowly enough that none of the soldiers noticed, and placed a hand on her comparatively tiny lap. She looked down at it, before again aiming for the center of the still marching army.

"Just one," she whispered. "Please. Just let me shoot one soldier." But Bregalad pressed down on her lap, indicating that she was not to let go of the arrow. She sighed, biting down hard on her lip as she lowered her bow.

For nearly an hour, warriors piled out of Isengard. Some marched off down to the Fords, while others turned to go east. Rowan fidgeted constantly; she clearly wanted to take some action, but she was given direct instructions to wait. Then, after what must have totaled ten thousand Orcs and Men, there were no more. The gates shut again, and the Ents went to work.

Merry and Pippin were set on the ground. Rowan would have been with them, had she not flat-out refused to move from her advantageous position on Bregalad's shoulder. If she couldn't ride forth into battle atop a steed, she would go into battle at the best shooting angle she would find. Treebeard strode forward, and began to bang on the great iron gates.

"Saruman!" He roared. "Come out and face the consequences of your crimes!" There was no answer, save for a volley of arrows and stones. Rowan took aim, and began doing her best to pick off the Orcs that were positioned around the gates, but Treebeard was full of arrows. The enraged Ent let out a great "_Hoom-hom!_" and the battle began.

Several of the other Ents met up with Treebeard, and began tearing at the gate. Rowan took the opportunity to leap down from Bregalad's shoulder, and broke out in a run across the top of the wall, doing her best to shoot at the now-retreating Orcs. That was proving hard; once the Ents broke through the gate, the few remaining lackeys were running as fast as they could to safety, but that tactic didn't seem to be serving them well. Between the Ents and the Huorns, Rowan didn't in truth have much to do, but she kept going, as if it would somehow relieve her pain.

Then, out of nowhere, a great, hulking mass of Orc warrior stood in her path, axe in hand. Rowan's eyes widened, and her hand slipped slightly as she fitted her arrow to the string. This split second was all her opponent needed; with a flash, he swung his axe with the clear intention of cutting her in two.

Rowan did her best to roll out of the way, but the axe caught her on her left side, leaving a deep gash nearly ten inches long. Rowan let out a gasp she tried to push herself into a standing position, but try as she might, she remained splayed out on the walkway around the top of the wall. The Orc leered sadistically, raising his axe over her to shatter her ribcage in triumph, but Rowan found some last source of strength. She lifted her bow, and let her last arrow fly. He fell backwards, her arrow's feathers sticking out of his forehead like some bizarre headdress. She fought to stand, just in time to see Bregalad start Saruman, shouting as he went. "The tree-killer! The tree-killer!"

Kneeling again, the young woman groped blindly around her feet, looking for any stray arrows of which she might make use. All the time she fought to keep her sight, but she was losing a great deal of blood from her wound; the green-tinged sparkle of unconsciousness beckoned from the corners of her vision. Finally, she found a single Orc-arrow, some two feet from where she knelt on her hands and knees. With the last of her strength, she raised her bow and did her best to aim for the tiny pale figure running for the safety of Orthanc. He ducked into his safe haven just after she let the arrow fly. She watched it as it flew through the air; her ears caught the faint sound of it striking the tower and clattering to the ground before blackness took her, and she knew no more.

* * *

Bare minutes later (though for all her knowledge, it may as well have been hours), she awoke to the great roar of Saruman starting up the fires of his machines. Hazel eyes fluttering open, she only dimly registered the sights before her. The Ents had the outer walls in a shambles; by some outrageous stroke of luck, the stretch of walkway on which she lay was still intact.

Her mind returned to her current situation as one of the tall, angry shapes she recognized as Ents went up in flames. At this she scrambled to her feet, only barely being able to recognize the burning creature. It was Beechbone, a handsome, fairly young Ent she knew well. She could do nothing except stand there, staring at him as he flailed desperately. It was then that she found her voice at last. She screamed in horror, in grief, not only for the painful death she was observing, but also for everything she had seen since they had arrived on the outskirts of the fortress. The scream was originally intended to be as long and as piercing as her shriek back before the battle, but she was a great deal weaker than she had been then; she did her best to let out the strangled cry.

Just as she felt she could do no more before again passing out, Treebeard called for silence. The other Ents crowded around him, as he began giving orders in their own language. Rowan strained to hear, but she was too far away, and too far gone to be able to follow a long strain of Entish. They were all heading off to do the work laid out for them when, by chance, one of the Ents spotted Rowan atop the wall.

"What's this?" He said softly, gently picking her up. Careful not to touch her wound, he carried her over to where Merry and Pippin sat, where the two hobbits had observed the entire battle. The Ent strode off to do his work as the two moved closer to Rowan, examining her.

Fighting to keep her eyes open, Rowan did her best to smile. "I see the two of you managed to avoid the conflict," she murmured, "and for that, I am glad." She squirmed a bit, wincing, before she was in the position to shrug off the strap that held her pack and quiver to her back. She motioned to Pippin, being the closer of the two, and he pulled her things out from under her. She fumbled with her bundle for a moment, her tired hands having trouble finding the opening, but at last it opened. She pulled out a small flask, and took a few small sips of the good Entwash water. Almost immediately her breathing was smoother, more even. Sitting up a bit, she dribbled more of the water on her wound, sighing delicately as the cool water sank into her broken skin.

Both hobbits were fidgeting a bit, not wanting to admit that they were thirsty. Rowan noticed, and gestured for her pack once more. Looking inside, the hobbits found a decidedly larger bottle full of the same good water as the one in her hand. They drank eagerly, while the young woman pulled a rolled-up length of soft fabric out of the bundle, along with a short stone knife. Ripping away at the thin cloth of her gown until it was in two definite pieces, on either side of her wound, she unrolled the gauzy fabric, revealing a small, sharp needle tucked inside, along with a spool of thin, wiry thread.

Glancing at the hobbits to be sure that they weren't watching her too closely, Rowan turned away from them. Taking a moment to gaze in revulsion at the metal needle in her hand, she bit down hard on her lip to keep from crying out in pain as she set to work stitching up the gash in her side. Every few moments, when the pain was growing too great, she picked up the flask again, and let the cool, healing water trickle into the deep laceration.

The work was painful, but the work was quick, especially once the first pale rays of sunlight began to peek over the horizon; soon enough the wound was clean and sewn shut, though Rowan was a good deal paler than when she had begun. After winding the cloth around her torso as a bandage and putting enough loose stitches around the rip in her gown to count it all as one piece again, she finally felt the strength to stand.

"Are you all right?" Pippin asked, getting to his feet. Merry followed shortly; both were aware of the large patch of dried blood in her dress, and would have supported her, but their height would have allowed for little more than Rowan putting her hands on their shoulders and propelling herself forward. At the moment she could hold her own weight, so the problem didn't go any further than that.

"I will be fine," she assured them, hiding a wince as she shifted her weight. "I do believe I would benefit from walking around for a while."

And so they did, at least for a little while. Rowan, while vastly better since stitching up her wound, still had a long way to go to recovery; she tired easily, and stopped frequently to rest, until around midday she came to a decision.

"Stop," she said, more loudly than she had spoken all day. Merry and Pippin looked back at her in surprise. "I am overexerting myself," she replied, as if she were commenting on the weather. "It would be wise for me to rest." With that, she (slowly) lowered herself to the ground and laid back, not seeming to notice the dry, stubby grass beneath her.

Smiling up at the hobbits (a new concept for her), Rowan's eyes went in and out of focus in exhaustion. She opened her mouth to speak, but in her state, she was unable to manage more than a whisper.

"Hmm?" Merry said, kneeling next to her.

"I said, it is odd," she replied, louder this time. "Never in my life have I rested lying down. And now I suddenly lie back, as if this were normal."

Merry shrugged. "Must be instinct."

Rowan shrugged ever so slightly, smiling before her eyes closed, and she surrendered to the dark.

* * *

I'm really sorry it took so long! Even now, I'm not happy with this chapter, but what was I going to do? Write it again? That would take another five months!

There'll be a sort of explanation to this chapter on my fanfiction LiveJournal. I feel the need to say something about it.

Thank you to anyone who still reads this. I'm only sure of two, Elessar-Lover and Laseri. They not only bugged me until I updated, but their _amazing_ work has inspired me like the Valar themselves. Love and happy thoughts to you both.


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